Hollow Hearts
by DarkHeart16
Summary: During his sixth year, Harry becomes withdrawn and lost within himself. Through a series of small events, Snape reaches out to Harry and brings him back. Three part short story.


Hollow Hearts

Chapter One

The Potions classroom is quiet. The only sounds are of swirling mixtures and careful chopping. I sit in the back, observing the scene before me. I can't pinpoint exactly when I shifted from actor to audience. Perhaps it was after Sirius' death when I lost the last of my family. Or perhaps it was Cedric's death, which made me realize that innocent, wonderful people could die simply because of their closeness to me. Maybe it was the day I was told I wasn't just an ordinary boy, but an icon or maybe it was when it hit me that the Dursley's would never accept me no matter how hard I tried to please them. Maybe I've always been like this. Sitting in the back of the shadowy classroom with my simmering cauldron before me, steadily slicing roots, I try not to think of preparing dinner for the Dursley's, anxious because if I don't chop the carrots just so, I might not be allowed to eat a portion of what I prepared. I concentrate on the root and try to imagine chopping something else. Dudley's fingers, perhaps.

When I stir in the root, the potion turns a sickly green instead of the dainty lavender it's supposed to be. Looking around the room, I see variations of purple, pink and even a bright blue in front of Neville, but no color of greasy, grass-induced vomit and when I look down at my worktable I see splatters of red across the cutting board and resting on my knife. Blood. The fingers on my left hand are striped with several cuts and blood trickles through the cracks in my rough skin and gathers around my nails. Needless to say, the potion was ruined.

Black robes instantly sweep to my side, announcing his presence. I don't look up at him. Don't want to see his sneer tear his face and hear him tell me I'm useless, pathetic, arrogant like my father, lazy in my fame and how I'll never amount to anything. I know I failed, but I can't handle hearing it, not today, not when Christmas is approaching and so many people won't be joining in on the festivities, won't be wrapping presents, won't be kissing under mistletoe, sitting around the fireplace, sharing warm laughter over sweet cookies and they won't be waking up Christmas morning in delight because they don't wake up anymore, since I put them underground.

I feel him looking down at me, pondering his words and I start to wonder why he's hesitating when his tongue is usually quick to snap and whip me further.

"I believe that's a zero, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Stay after class."

"Yes, sir." Then Snape swoops away to loom over Neville, leaving me with an empty cauldron and bloody fingers. I look over to see if Ron and Hermione noticed, but Ron is preoccupied leaning toward Hermione with a playful smile and Hermione is preoccupied with alternating between flirty glances and halfhearted scolding. I pack up my things, quietly, and spend the rest of class staring at my potions textbook, not turning the page so as not to stain the edges with the dripping blood from my clumsy hands.

Class is dismissed and I gather my bag, hiding my hands while telling Ron and Hermione to go ahead, Professor Snape wants to talk to me. They give pitying looks, but don't ask why, content to walk together, alone. The room is empty when I stand before his desk. His eyes flick to me and back to the paper he's grading, red ink stretches across it from his sharp quill. With his other hand he pushes a jar toward me and says, "Put this on your hands." I look at his face to see why, is this a trick? But he simply continues grading indifferently. I slather salve on my hands and watch as the cuts disappear.

"Thank you, sir." Now for the punishment. He raises his eyes to inspect my hands, then recaps the jar and returns to grading.

"You are dismissed."

"Sir, what of my punishment?" I don't understand and he looks at me in a way that says I should and he isn't going to explain.

"You got a zero. Get out." I hesitate and he glares. I stumble out, wondering if he's inhaled too many fumes lately.

Christmas break begins and I find myself in an Order meeting, listening to the people around me talk delicately of anticipated battles and skirting around the issue of what to do if I fail. They don't want to upset me, but their caution is unnecessary. I'm fully aware of the fact that for me, failing means death and the possibility of failing is far greater than success. Christmas is coming and all I can think of is that it might be my last, yet I'm spending it alone at Hogwarts because it's safer for me there. There's so much I have yet to do, but may never have the chance. I can't see the romance in dying young. I won't die beautiful, like in Muggle movies and fairytales, with my broken glasses and stunted growth. Sometimes I dream of growing old with someone I love and dying within days of each other, once we have lived long enough. Instead, I'll die alone and scared with a flash of green light. Bam.

I have to stop this. Maybe if I pretend I'll be able to die old and loved, it'll happen. Or maybe I'll still die young, but at least it would be under the delusion of happiness and not what Hermione calls "excessive brooding". Dumbledore seems to think I have this power Voldemort does not: love. Yet, what I have is the potential for love. I could love, if given the chance. I have the potential to love and Voldemort has decades of experience in killing skilled wizards painfully and with little reciprocation. Excuse me if I'm a bit skeptical.

I vaguely hear my name and I bring myself back to the meeting. Everyone is looking at me, proving that once again, I missed what was happening. Remus' expression changes from inquisitive to pity.

"Sorry. I guess I spaced out." My apology seems sufficient and they return to their discussion. I attempt to pay more attention. After the meeting is closed, Remus approaches me and asks how I'm doing. "I'm fine." As fine as I can be, I suppose. He asks if I've been sleeping well and out of the corner of my eye I see the others attempting to nonchalantly pause their conversation to hear my response. Even Snape watches me expectantly. I blurt out that I've been sleeping just fine, thank you, and they all look away, except Remus who smiles in his sad way, and Snape, who keeps watching me until I feel myself start to fidget and he looks away. There's no need to worry everyone. Voldemort hasn't been sending me visions, so there's no need to announce my increasing insomnia. They just want to make sure Voldemort isn't taking over my mind. My nightly demons are my own to conquer. They always have been.

Dumbledore beckons me to the fireplace to return to Hogwarts and Remus steals a hug. I wish I could fall into his embrace and let him catch me, but I don't, won't, can't, and with a smiling farewell, I turn and leave.


End file.
